Roadside Assistance (20 page)

I fished through books and CDs until I pulled out her Bible. The brown leather cover was cracked and faded, evidence of how often she poured through it. I unzipped it and flipped through the pages, finding page after page highlighted with faded yellow ink. My eyes glanced through the many verses she had marked, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she had marked them for herself or for me.

I gasped when I found one in particular that she had marked — underlined in pen and then highlighted in yellow: Deuteronomy 31:6.

“You liked that verse too, Mom,” I whispered.

Is this a sign?

I poured through more, each verse touching my heart and filling my mind with something that felt a whole lot like hope. Was this what faith was? Is this what Zander meant by opening my heart and listening to what God had to say?

Then the strangest thought hit me like a ton of bricks —
Did God send me Zander since I can talk to him about everything in my heart, at the same time I can’t get my father to communicate with me?

Pushing the thought aside, I flipped through more pages, taking in more verses. When I reached the back of the Bible, a slip of paper fell to the floor. I unfolded it and blew out a surprised breath when I found my mother’s handwriting. I sucked in a breath and then read the letter.

My Dearest Emily,

Writing this letter is the most difficult task I’ve ever had to do. How can I possibly express my hope and love for you for the last time? I’ve started this letter over and over, probably two dozen times. However, I’ve finally decided I need to just tell you how I feel and trust that the Lord will guide my words.

You are everything to me. You’re my life. You’re my breath. You’re my heart. The day you were born was the happiest day of my life. Your father and I had dreamt of having a child, but we tried in vain for nearly five years. Since we couldn’t afford any of those fancy fertility treatments, we waited and prayed — often. I’ll never forget the day we found out we were going to have you. Your father and I rejoiced. And when you arrived, you were perfect — so beautiful. All of my dreams came true the day you came into our lives.

And now, fifteen short years later, I have to say good-bye. It breaks my heart that I will miss so many milestones in your life. But I take heart that you will be okay. Yes, you’ll miss me, but you have your wonderful father. Hold onto your dad. Let him guide you. I know he makes you crazy sometimes, but always remember he loves you more than life itself.

It’s difficult for me to decide what words to impart to you when there’s so much I want to say. Growing up can be painful, and it will be even more difficult for you since you won’t have me by your side. But I need you to remember I’ll always be with you in your heart. You can talk to me anytime. If you need me, find a quiet place and just talk.

I’m leaving you my precious Bible, which has helped me through my darkest hours and given me the strength I’ve needed to endure this terrible disease. Please read it often. Read and listen to my favorite verses, which I’ve marked for you.

I’m tired and my eyes are closing, so I must end this note for now. Emily, always remember to be true to yourself. You’re a beautiful young lady, both inside and out. Don’t ever feel you have to change in order to fit into some mold dictated by your peers or even a boyfriend. You’re special. Don’t ever let anyone change you.

Never forget that I’ll always love you. We’ll never understand why God chose to end my life so quickly, but I’ll never doubt why I was put here on this earth— to be a child of God, your mother, and Bradley Curtis’s wife. I know I’ve served my purpose and my life was not wasted on this earth. I know this for certain because I had you, and my spirit will live on through you and the deeds you accomplish during your life.

Most importantly, Emily Claire, never ever doubt God’s love for you. He’ll always be with you, loving you and guiding you. Don’t be afraid to turn your burdens and your sorrow over to him. He will be the most important source of strength you have.

I’ll leave you with one of my favorite verses—

Isaiah 41:10: So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

My love to you forever and ever,

Mom

With tears streaming down my hot cheeks, I studied the letter, reading it over and over until I had it committed to memory. Then I changed into my nightshirt and sweatpants and curled up into bed and read the letter over and over again until I fell asleep.

chapter thirteen

Z
ander and I walked side by side on our way from Fellowship Hall to the classrooms. I’d made it through the service without tearing up once, even though my mother’s letter was still fresh in my mind three days later. I almost felt as if she was with me today.

Last night I’d dreamt that she was in my room, sitting on the edge of the bed while chatting with me and reciting the words from the letter. I could hear her voice and see her bright, green eyes. In my dream, my mother’s curly brown hair had grown back and fell to her shoulders in the bob style she’d worn since I was a little girl. She wore a white, flowing nightgown, and her skin was pink and shiny. She’d looked like an angel.

I could still hear her parting words: “Forgive your father, Emily. He’s coping the best way he knows how. Remember he loves you. And God loves you, Emily. God loves you.”

“Emily?” a voice asked, wrenching me from my thoughts.

I turned and found Pastor Keith standing by his open office door. “Hi, Pastor,” I said, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear. I’d worn my hair down today, and it flowed to the middle of my back. It had driven me crazy during church, falling in my face at inopportune times when I was trying to follow along with the readings and hymns. I made a mental note to pull it up when I got home.

Pastor glanced at Zander. “Good morning.”

“Hi, Pastor.” Zander gave a slight wave and smiled, his dimple appearing.

Pastor looked back at me. “I was wondering if you had a moment to talk.”

“Oh.” I twirled a curl around my finger, wondering what to say. Why would the pastor want to talk to me? I felt like a delinquent who’d been sent to the principal’s office. Was I in trouble?

Zander touched my arm. “I’ll come get you after J2A, and we can go out for an awesome burger.”

“Okay.” I watched him disappear into the crowd of kids heading to class and then I turned back to Pastor.

“Come on in.” He gestured for me to enter his office.

“Thanks.” I sat in a chair across from the pastor’s desk and expected him to sit behind the desk in a formal sort of way.

Instead, Pastor Keith sat across from me and smiled. He was a handsome man, with a kind face, dark hair, and warm brown eyes.

“So,” he began, clasping his hands together. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.” I shrugged and smoothed my jean skirt.

“How’s school?” he asked, leaning back in the chair.

“Good.” I glanced around the office, taking in the family photos showing his pretty blonde wife and two blonde girls. Framed photos with Bible verses and paintings of Jesus on the cross peppered the bright white walls. The office reminded me of Pastor Rob’s office back home.

“Jenna mentioned you joined youth group and are going to J2A,” he said, still smiling.

I nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“That’s good.” He folded his hands in his lap. “Is there anything we can do for you at the church?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” I wondered what this
was all leading to. Was he looking for volunteers for a committee? Or was it more personal? Had my dad told him I needed counseling due to my lack of an appropriate social life and my snarky attitude?

Pastor’s expression turned to concern. “How are you really doing, Emily?”

“Fine,” I said, forcing a smile.

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Yup.” I nodded with emphasis.

“You know you can always talk to me. Or if you’d rather speak to someone closer to your age, you can talk to Jenna.”

“Thanks, but I’m really fine.” I cleared my throat and twirled a curl around my finger. I felt as if I were on display. I wanted to get out of the office and be a member of the J2A class — just another kid trying to find her faith. Then another question occurred to me — did other kids my age “lose” their faith? Would I be declared a heretic if I even admitted it out loud?

“I see you and Zander have become friends.”

“Yeah, we have a lot in common,” I said. “We both like to work on cars.”

“I heard from your father that you’re quite a car enthusiast. That’s unusual for a girl your age.” He leaned an arm on the edge of his desk. “I find it very interesting. My girls are five and nine, and they are all about dolls, clothes, and makeup.”

“Yeah, I was never interested in that kind of thing,” I said. “My mom told me that she wasn’t much of a girly-girl either, so it must be in the genes. I had a few dolls when I was younger, but my toy boxes were mostly full of Matchboxes and Hot Wheels.”

“Hmm.” Pastor rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “How did you get into cars? I assume it was your father’s influence, but how did
your
love of cars come about?”

“I don’t know.” I crossed my legs and settled back in the
chair, getting comfortable. “I always had an interest. I started handing my father tools when I was really little — about four, I think. Then as I got older, I graduated from handing him tools to actually putting the tools to use. I started working in my dad’s shop when I was about twelve, and I was officially on the payroll at fourteen.”

“Why cars?” he asked. “What I mean is — why did you choose cars instead of sewing or stamp collecting?”

“Stamp collecting?” I asked. He had to be joking.

He chuckled. “Your expression is priceless. The stamp collecting question was a joke. I’m just wondering why you love cars so much. What is it about working on a car that brings you joy?”

I shrugged. He was making something that was so simple way too complicated. “Cars are easy.”

“Easy?” He rubbed his chin again. “I can tell you that when I tried to fix the radiator on my wife’s van last year, it wasn’t easy. It was hard and also expensive when I had to pay a mechanic to fix my mess.”

“To me, cars are simple because they just are what they are.” I gestured with my hands as if I were pointing to an engine. “Cars are basic. They all pretty much have the same parts. They’re just in different places if you’re working on a Ford instead of a Chevy. They’re kind of like a big puzzle, and I love trying to figure out how to solve it.”

“Your dad mentioned you’d worked at his shop before your mom passed.” His face became sympathetic. “How are you doing without your mom, by the way?”

So this is why he called me in here. This must be Dad’s doing.
“I’m okay.” I shrugged.

“What helps you cope?” he asked.

I paused, not sure what to say, because truthfully, I didn’t know the answer. “I guess being with friends.”

“Like Zander?” he prodded, his smile back.

“Yes,” I said, twirling a curl again. “Zander and I have been working on his car, and that’s a lot of fun. I also spend time with my friend Chelsea.”

“What else helps?”

“Staying busy. School is a good distraction.”

“Do you ever talk to God?” he asked.

I blanched, feeling as if I’d been caught doing something terrible, like shoplifting. How could I possibly lie to a pastor? That would get me a ticket to hell for certain. “No,” I whispered.

“You know his door is always open,” Pastor said. “He’ll listen to you any time. You can say anything to him, anything that’s in your heart or on your mind.”

I nodded.

“Are you afraid to talk to him?” he asked, his expression gentle, full of understanding.

“No.” Deep down, I knew my answer wasn’t the whole truth. Fear was only one part of it.

“Sometimes we’re afraid to share our thoughts and feelings because we think he won’t approve, but I can assure you nothing is off-limits when it comes to sharing with God,” he said. “No problem or concern is too big or small for Jesus.” He checked his watch and then stood. “I better get you out in the hallway before Zander thinks you left for lunch without him.”

I followed him to the door and out into the hall, where a group of kids hurried by, talking excitedly.

“Thank you for visiting,” Pastor Keith said. “Feel free to come by anytime to chat. My door is always open.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Have a good week,” Pastor said.

“You too.”

I looked down the hallway toward our classroom just as Zander and Whitney approached. “How was class?”

“Good,” Zander said. “How was your session with Pastor?”

“Good,” I said.

“Are you guys going out for your car session again?” Whitney asked.

“That’s right.” Zander looped an arm around my shoulders.

Whitney smiled. “Have fun.”

We started to step away, and Whitney gently pulled me back.

“Are you doing okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Why?”

She looked concerned. “Zander said you were meeting with Pastor Keith, so I wanted to make sure you were all right. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you.”

I twirled a lock of hair again. “I’m fine.”

“If you need to talk,” she began, “I’m here.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Go have fun.” She gestured to Zander, who was chatting with another boy while he waited for me.

“Okay. See you later.” I turned to Zander, and an overwhelming feeling enveloped me. There were people around me who seemed to really care — Zander, Pastor Keith, and even Whitney. Come to think of it, my former church was the same way when Mom got sick, reaching out when I needed them most.